"Oh, oh, _please_ would you mind stayin’ there?" she cried out in a shrill little agitated voice. He stopped abruptly. "What is it, meine liebe?" "You have been very kind, indeed, Mr. Hair Smitt." The Atom’s exceedingly grown-up manner precluded any more questions. "Thank you very much. Would you mind turnin’ your back a minute?" He moved away and looked out of the window. Sheila Pat with trembling hands turned up her skirt and grasped the dangling petticoat beneath, but as she did it, a wicked black head emerged from beneath the table, and wicked white teeth closed on the flannel and pulled—pulled. "K.K.! I’ll _whip_ you! Drop it! Oh, _drop_ it, K.K.!" But whether it was that the Atom dared not raise her voice above a whisper, or whether K.K. just felt specially naughty—anyway, she did not leave go. And Sheila Pat’s proud soul was filled with very real agony. With a despairing "Please don’t turn round—I’m goin’!" she fled out into the hall, stumbling along, with K.K. and her petticoat dragging her sideways. She sank on to the lowest stair and let her petticoat go; she watched K.K. drag it down her legs, across the hall. He had treated her so beautifully! He had behaved as if she were a grown-up. All had gone so well—and what would he think of her now? A vision of Biddy O’Regan’s numerous babies trotting about with various garments dangling about their legs rose up before her eyes. Only babies let their things come down, the Atom thought, and she shuddered. K.K. brought the petticoat to her with a conciliatory wag, and laid it gently in her lap. The Atom took no notice. She was sure he had forgotten how she had tumbled down the stairs, and now—K.K. pushed a moist nose into her hand. "Oh, K.K., is it lovin’ me you are after _that_?" She pointed to the petticoat with a short but tragic finger. K.K. laid a sweet head on her knee, with upturned eyes adoring. *CHAPTER III* "I’m getting quite fond of our Stronghold," said Nell. "That’s crooked, Denis!" "What if it is, and you an artist! I’m not going to take the nail out,—no, not if it’s standing on its head. Isn’t my thumb pathetic pulp already?" "_Gerrls_ can’t use a hammer! _Gerrls_ always hit more thumb than anything else!" from the foot of the step-ladder came an impish voice. "That you, Atom?" Denis flung himself down the steps. Sheila Pat fled, squealing, down the stairs and into the garden. "_What_ we would have done without this room to call our own, my brain refuses to imagine!" Nell observed. "Wasn’t it just like mother to think of it?" queried Molly, wistfully. Nell nodded. "And our teas! Thank goodness, Aunt Kezia desires us to have tea up here, in case some of her friends turn up. It’s something to be looked upon as savages, after all, Mol!"